Cleansed Hands
by Super Sheba
Summary: Years after Soujiro was defeated by Kenshin, he has found a home and thankful to Kenshin, her writes him a letter in which he describes his life and the thanks he has for the help hehas received.


Before I write this fic, I would like to dedicate it to Chibi-Tenken and her love for Soujiro, my sister Sweet Chaos and her wonderful writing that brings me such inspiration, and Chavi West-Wind so that hopefully I cna brighten her day!  Also I would like to thank Zanza, Writer for Hire for her inspiration in the letter fic she wrote "Dear Weasel Girl" in which Kamatari writes to Misao.  Thank you all for such support!  Enjoy the read!

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**Cleansed Hands**

Dear Himura-san,

Our fights will always remain imprinted upon my mind, for they held much meaning.  Remember our first metting, when I broke your sakabatou?  The sword became completely useless, yet you were prepared to fight on.  I was lucky that my sword became cracked as well, as the battle ceased, and my life was spared.  You forever brought mercy to your opponents.  The moment I met you, my established and stable way of life was thrown into question, yet I humbly thank you.  Allow me to explain the occurrences of my life that brought me to such vulnerability as to fall into the care of Shishio Makoto.  

I was born out of wedlock, yet still, my mother loved me deeply.  It seemed as though society could not forgive my mother's deeds, which, I believe was more of a sin than my illegitimate birth.  Despite being conceived outside of marriage, my mother loved me unconditionally and did everything she could to bring my life harmony.  My mother was named Maemi, and was perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  Though her life ended as mine was just beginning, I remember her very clearly.  She was such a tender person, one of sweet and gentle personality and filled to the brim with love.  She would pick me up when I became injured or someone was cruel to me, and somehow, my memories of pain and distress while my mother was alive have been dampened.  Though her work was neither noble nor honroable, she did work in order to feed me, and that was all that mattered.  Unfortunately, the townspeople did not see me as an innocent child; rather, they viewed me as a dirty bastard without right to live.   Their taunting remarks haunted me throughout my life and left deep scars.  

People could be terribly cruel, so horrid, that they could murder my mother for being a prostitute.  Never did she deserve death for her actions, no matter how much of a transgression she committed.  Under these circumstances, I was taken into the home of my relatives, but not out of love, for they only wanted to protect their good name from gaining shame.  Rather than allowing me to grow as a child in happiness and freedom, I was forced into slavery.  Carrying rice barrels night and day for fear of being beaten, I was always punished for wrongdoings not mine.  The barrels would become slashed by the swords of others, yet I was blamed.  In the beginning, I would shriek and cry, only to find this made my relatives far more furious.  Eventually, when they went on rampages of anger, I would smile, my face trace of any hint of emotion, causing them to simmer down more quickly, and I perhaps coming out of the fight with a few less cuts.  Covered with lacerations, I would hide inside the storage shed and tiny tears would trickle down my cheeks, though I struggled to withold them.  

One evening, I had been hauling barrels late into the evening, having far too much work to finish within the hours of daylight the sun so freely gave each day.  For my inability to complete my task, I received several punches ot the gut and a few to the face, leaving me with a black-eye.  Running to the well to place cool water on my swelling eye, I felt the soothing liquid lessen the throbbing in my left eye.  I stumbled upon a twig, and with fear, gasped as a bandaged man glared at me fiercely, forcing me to promise silence of what I had seen.  Offering a place to stay in the shed, we walked away from the bleeding policeman luing dead on the ground, and I rushed off to retrieve bandages and food for the man of such great strength.  With ease he placed a sword in my hand, calling it a wakizashi, though I looked at him quizically and with confusement, wondering what I would do with it.  Strikingly enough, I would find use for the blade sooner than I would have ever imagined.  It wasn't long until my family discovered that I had been hiding Shishio in the storage rooms, and this time, they did not feel as though my life was important enough to be spared.  After me they went, attempting to murder me, but I found myself and the sword beneath the porch, hiding.  Two of my male relatives crouched down and followed me under, beckoning me to give them the sword.  Without thinking, I struck them, leaving them dead, their blood-curdling screams echoing through the night.  Soon, the rest of my family lay slain upon the ground, an innocent smile on my face as the rain trickled down my cheeks, appearing quite emotionless, though within my heart I was shrieking as it wrenched.  Impressed by my willingness to kill, Shishio took me under his wing and we walked away together into the storm.  

Thus I began my training as a swordsman, knowing if I did not I would again be alone, a prospect I did not want have to think about.  Though faced with the intense and harsh training of Shishio Makoto, there were a few upsides to my stay with the tyrant, yet still, this does not mean the experience was enjoyable.  When I joined the Juppongatana, I did however, finaly make a friend, one who I could never forget.  Honjou Kamatari was different than most in the fact that he, as a man, had fallen deeply in love with Shishio and had donned the appearance of a beautiful young woman, kimono and all.  Even with his homosexuality, Kamatari became my dearest friend.  The ostracizing I had received as a child brought me to become blind to petty oddities, knowing that a person should be judged by their kindness, not their sexual preference.  I too was treated different by society, and thus I understood the pain and rejection from which Kamatari suffered.  Kamatari was a good listener, and times when I was hurting, I would run to him and cry, though the rest of the juppongatana never knew of these emotions, for I had hidden them well.  As well as being a wonderful condolence, Kamatari could keep a secret, and he was faithful to his word, never telling a soul of my tears that sometimes came as I missed my mother who had treated me with love.  It is probable that this was the reason that I found him to be such a good friend, though I am quite sure there were other traits that had drawn me to him too.  I cannot thank your friend Miss Misao enough for preventing Kamatari from committing sucide, for now I would be far more lost than I already am.

Shingetsu village was the first place we formally met, though I did give you a message as you stared down at the bloody corpse of Lord Okubo in the road.  After you defeated Senkaku, mercifully showing Shishio one of your moves, I was finally able to face you in a duel, and though it was horriffic that I was attempting to kill you, nonetheless it was indeed exciting to finally be able to fight with a swordsman whose skills were equal of mine and thus worthy of my skills.  Quickly the battle ensued and both of our swords cracked.  I feared that Shishio would be furious with me and discipline me the way he brutally punished so many innocent people on the streets.  To discover that Shishio was not angry with me for breaking his sword and postponing our fight to a later date was relief like no other.   It was after this event that I was influenced by the philosophical Senkaku who for some reason, had been allowed to live.  He told me that just being able to breath the clean air in the morning and gaze upon the fish swimming about the riverbed was miraculous and truly amazing.  This was the beginning of the changes that began to rock the seemingly stable mind dwelling within my skull.  

It was when you Himura-san, arrived at Shishio's lair, that my sense of humanity became compeltely demolished and my life-long belief was proven wrong.  Before, Shishio had made so much sense with his philosophy, yet yours was even clearer and shone brighter and with greater truth.  From the beginning I am sure you could tell I was being swarmed with confusion, considering I held back and made excuses such as a broken sandal strap, allowing you to wrap your wounds in bandages.  The concept of a man protecting the weak upset me, for if the weak were supposed to die, then why was it that he insisted upon rescuing them?  Memories of my past and the hideous murders of my relatives began to flash in my mind, and that brought me to the ground shrieking.  Perhaps you can comprehend such a feeling, when suddenly all of your past sins and mistakes come back to cruelly haunt you and pierce your heart.  I am aware of your role as hitokiri battousai during the Bakamatsu, yet still you shine with hope.  After being hit and defeated by your Ama Kakeru Ryu no Hirameki, I funally understood how true happiness could be, and how you found peace.  Your method of forgiveness was far more trying than that of Shishio's ever could be, but I knew it was right and I resolved to go in such a direction that someday I would be able to smile a true smile.

Today, Himura-san, I can happily say I have reached such a stage in my life.  Though I still feel guilty for what I have done, I have found a home where I am accepted as I am.  My story is rather like yours.  I became a rurouni, just as you, but a few months ago, I met several amazing people and was even reunited with Kamatari.  After Shishio's death, Kamatari had been deeply depressed, yet it seemed within the people I now find solace in he too had found comfort.  Aoriten Gesshoku, though we all call her Gessho for short, could be called Kamatari's best friend, though I am also in that category.  Still, I can only sigh hopefully as I utter the name of the woman I have fallen for.  We have much in common Himura-san, considering you also fell for the woman you met upon your journies.  For me, this angel is called Harusame, though her name seems tainted as I write it upon paper.  Harusame is quite beautiful and very sweet, and she has no fear of my past.  For that I can thank her as I have thanked you.  For now, we live by the beach in a small white cottage, where the ocean is within but a moment's walking distance from the house.  At sunset, one can gaze upon the graceful dolphins leaping from the shimmering cerulean sea as the sky becomes rosy and the clouds transform into lavender pillows on which wandering spirits sleep upon during the night's embrace.  If you had asked me several months ago if I believed that I could ever find such wondrous joy and peace, I would have claimed that you were lying and become angry.  I still shake in disbelief as I look upon the loving friends and family I have attained.  The only words I can say to you Himura-san, are thank you, for you have shown me that life can be beautiful once the sun emerges from the darkness.  I wish thee well.

Sincerely,

Seta Soujiro


End file.
